


the taste that I engraved

by birdginia



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Bad end, Canon-typical Temporary Character Death, Corruption, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Monsterfucking, Other, Ryona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdginia/pseuds/birdginia
Summary: “I see you bear the Fists of Malphon,” the voice of war resounds. “I’ve an excellent boon to complement them, should you wish to indulge.”
Relationships: Ares/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 171





	the taste that I engraved

The Twin Fists are as warm as a recently extinguished hearth when Zagreus first picks them up, closer to his own body temperature than most of the Arms are after sitting untouched for untold days or nights. The hum of semi-life is familiar to him by now, as is the anticipation for battle that isn’t entirely his own, but the latter seems somehow stronger than usual—a thirst for the thrill of the fight rather than the glory of victory, if Zagreus had to place the exact feeling. 

In retrospect, a message from Ares immediately after leaving the House should have been expected.

“I see you bear the Fists of Malphon,” the voice of war resounds. “I’ve an excellent boon to complement them, should you wish to indulge.”

“Sounds good,” Zagreus says to no one, closing his eyes to center himself as the power begins to flow into him.

“To you, my kin, I offer the Gift of Unending Bloodlust.”

Zagreus always feels stronger after accepting one of the Olympians’ gifts, and Ares’ are especially potent, but this one feels slightly to the left of the usual heat from the fires of war. Not that it matters much; it’ll either be strong enough to get him out or it won’t. So Zagreus moves on, ready to take out his first Wretch.

-

It’s strong enough, all right.

The Wretches of Tartarus fall to pieces by his hand, bones crumbling to dust and flesh ripping and tearing with each strike, and with every enemy slain Zagreus feels himself grow stronger, and he knows it isn’t only the experience under his belt. Ares’ boon grants him power, yes, but it also brings forth his confidence, allowing him to fight his foes without fear of retaliation.

The only time he wavers is when there are no foes in sight.

He thought it was some sort of sickness, at first—perhaps a poison delivered by a witch or a blow to the back of the head he’d shrugged off until he had a moment’s respite. The second he heard the grind of the doors unbarring themselves as the final enemy of the room fell, his stomach dropped, and a red-hot glow began to emanate from the Fists of Malphon, making his hands itch and burn. “Nothing to do but move forward,” he grumbled to himself, and he pressed on, hoping for a curative of some sort from the next room.

Then, as soon as he charged into the next Lout, the sickness dissipated. 

He’s near where Megaera waits, now, and he thinks he has the hang of it. Ares’ “Unending Bloodlust” seems to encourage him to keep moving forward, keep fighting, keep killing, by punishing the beneficiary when they are not doing so. 

It’s a simple enough bargain, he supposes, and one that might be more trouble to, say, someone who isn’t going to devote the next long amount of time doing nothing but moving forward and killing. He can do this.

-

He has no time for the usual banter when he enters Megaera’s chamber. 

“Impatient today?” she quips, but Zagreus can hardly hear it over the sound of his own harsh breathing, blood singing in his ears as he charges towards her. His fist connects with her jaw on the last word, and she scarcely has time to spit before he’s winding up for another, and another, pummeling every inch of her he can see. She takes every blow without interrupting her stance, then spins into a kick that sends him flying, any instinct to guard lost in his frenzy.

He jumps back to his feet in an instant, but the moment he spends recentering himself is just enough for Megaera to wind her whip around one of his arms, maneuvering around a pillar to keep him held taut, unable to reach her.

“What’s with you, Zag?” she scoffs. “It’s not like you to go this long without saying something stupid.” 

Zagreus starts to speak, but being bound and unable to fight for those few seconds already has him feeling sick, hot bile rising in his throat and red tingeing the corners of his vision. The fight can’t stop, the war must go on, or else—

He lets out a furious roar as the snakeskin of the whip stretches, then snaps, and Zagreus is nearly thrown off-balance with the speed at which he closes in on Megaera, both hands aiming for her throat—not to strike, but to grapple. 

Her grip on the handle of her whip falters as it breaks, and the knockdown she receives causes her to let go completely, leaving her unarmed as Zagreus lands on top of her, crushing her windpipe with all the grace of a loosed boulder crushing a fallen log in its path. He’s breathing harder than a god would ever need to breathe, saliva dropping from his mouth like a hungry beast’s onto her face and splayed-out hair, and he can feel her lifeblood surging and pulsing even through the gauntlets, growing weaker and weaker with each passing second.

“Zag?” 

Her voice is weak, and he presses harder, allowing no air to pass, but he almost lets go when he sees the look on her face. Her mouth is set in fierce defiance, but her eyes are wide in concern—not for her own life, Zagreus suddenly realizes, but his.

But the second the thought of letting her go free crosses his mind, it’s replaced by a cacophony of screams, righteous in their fury and relentless in their cause. His enemy is beneath him, helpless, and his body is aflame with the need, the _want_ , to kill and maim and rend and destroy and rape and pillage and rape and pillage and—

The snap of her neck is loud enough to ring in his ears as the warmth fades from both her body and his. Her lips are frozen in the shape of a half-formed word he can’t read.

This time, when the sickness hits, he allows himself to vomit.

-

“I see my gift is treating you well,” Ares says, when Zagreus finds another message a few steps into Asphodel. “You’ve made it this far so quickly! Allow me to give you further strength, that you may come to me even faster.”

Zagreus almost rejects the boon, but the time it takes to listen to the message is time spent without an enemy, and he cannot find the strength to fight off the flow of power that surges into him, penetrating his skin and settling into his core.

He stops feeling the sickness. He could almost weep with relief, but in its place is something more…agitated. Impatience, yes, but more hope for the future than despair for the present. He finds himself smiling for the first time since the beginning of Tartarus.

“Thank you, Lord Ares,” he says to empty air, meaning every word.

-

Zagreus’ body has always been hot, and even more so with the fires of war lighting his path, but the heat he begins to feel for the next few encounters is decidedly not the same.

It’s a heavy warmth, the kind that sinks into him like a hot meal and keeps his belly full and satisfied, but only for a short time before he’s hungry again—hungry, but not starving, just enough to keep him motivated to continue his journey. 

It’s only after some time that he realizes the heat might be a little too much.

The first twinge of it comes partway into a particularly grueling battle with the Coven, as he strikes down his second witch and the rush of victory goes not to his head or hands, but straight to his loins.

It’s not the first time he’s felt this during a fight—some choice bouts with Megaera come to mind—but the _craving_ that comes afterwards is new. He lands a clean hit on the next witch, and the need grows stronger, the warmth in his stomach sinking lower with each strike so by the time the room is empty, he’s embarrassingly hard.

“First time for everything, I suppose,” he mumbles, as he finds a wall without too much fire spitting near it to lean against and adjusts his leggings.

The first few strokes nearly bring him to his knees, the wave of relief shuddering through him as his moans echo through the chamber, and he’s tugging at himself at a furious pace with hardly any buildup, nothing like his usual sessions alone in his room. The other major difference is the images that come to mind as he touches himself—thoughts of his earlier battles, sense-memories of digging his hands into joints and pummelling already-dead flesh, the sound of Meg’s wheezing attempts at breath as she—

He comes before he has a chance to fully comprehend the thought, spilling against the chamber wall with enough force that he stumbles and steps backwards into Phlegethon, yelping as he yanks his foot back onto dry land.

Okay. Guess he’s into being on the other side of pain now. Thanks, Ares.

-

It’s not as satisfying, the second time.

The insistence of the heat in his lower half is even stronger after the next room is cleared of Wretches, but when he finds himself another corner to lean against, it takes longer to bring himself to climax, though he tries to rush it, and even the freshest memories of killing and maiming don’t feel like close enough to the real thing to get off to.

Which is fairly worrying, if Zagreus thinks about it.

When he finally goes to the next chamber, his cock pulses immediately at the first swing of his fists, and he bites back a moan at the sight of bone shattering under his hand. Somehow his body continues to move with perfect grace and speed, despite his mind spinning with lust with every wound he inflicts, and it’s so easy to simply let it happen, let the creatures crumble at his touch while his thoughts become nothing but sensation, pleasure running through him and empowering his strikes in a way that even Aphrodite has not offered him.

He barely notices the wet patch in his clothes until the chamber is completely empty.

-

He fucks the Bone Hydra.

Well, in a manner of speaking. He sort of loses his senses entirely about halfway through the fight, and when he wakes up, his cock is trapped between two vertebrae on the main head as he holds on for dear life to the wriggling mass of bone while it vainly attempts to spit its attacks behind its own head. Something in the back of Zagreus’ mind tells him that this is a _terrible_ idea, but then the Hydra twists in a way that causes the bones to clamp down on his cock and his mind goes blank again, lost completely in the movement of bodies and the thrill of conquering a mighty foe.

It crumbles to dust before he can come, and Zagreus isn’t sure how to feel.

-

He wants to ignore the first sign of Ares in Elysium.

His mouth is speaking the words of acceptance before he has the chance to leave.

“The suffering of the peaceful, then the thrill of the conqueror,” Ares says, his voice even more unnaturally calm than usual. “Have you enjoyed these gifts? I have one more for you, I think.”

Zagreus doesn’t bother pretending he can talk back.

“The completeness of the Myrmidon. The internal peace of a war carried out under orders from a greater power. That is my gift to you, the final piece of my Unending Bloodlust.”

Zagreus does not fight.

Not against Ares’ wishes, that is.

-

When Thanatos finds him, Zagreus destroys everything in his path.

Thanatos does not give him his usual gift. Instead, he stands in front of the door, blocking Zagreus’ path.

Zagreus goes to push him aside. He must move forward.

“Stop. You have a goal in mind, do you not? Do you remember what it is?”

Zagreus does not answer. His hands hurt, but he does not tend to them. He must move forward.

“I know Ares’ influence. It’s not what you want. If—when you escape, will you become his foot soldier? Trading one home you don’t want for another?”

He must move forward.

“Zag, come on!”

His fist sends Thanatos’ weightless body into a wall, and it crumples to the ground with a soft noise.

He moves forward.

-

He does not remember getting to the surface. He does not question it when Charon steps aside and allows him one final message from Ares.

“You’re so close to me now, boy. I can hear you now. Are you prepared to accept me?”

“Yes, Lord Ares.”

-

The outer pillars of Olympus are Ares’ favorite place to take him.

Zagreus can oversee all of Greece from over Ares’ shoulder, his back cooled by the marble he’s pressed up against, and Ares can point out exactly where to look. Which battles are being fought. Which villages are being ransacked. What ways Zagreus could be killing, if Ares willed it, if Ares weren’t busy watching his favorite toy fall apart under his hands like so many decaying corpses.

Zagreus’ mind is blank, but his body is just as responsive as ever, his voice a clarion call that perhaps every army in the land can hear and his toes curling and twitching with each thrust of his Lord’s hips, his body aching for more—more touch, more sensation, more bloodshed.

“Soon, my kin, my pet, my Zagreus,” Ares whispers, “Soon I will unleash you onto the world.”

Zagreus smiles. His hands are warm.

**Author's Note:**

> coda: ares sends zag onto the battlefield for his glorious martial debut and zag immediately falls over, wakes up in the styx like "haha, what the fuck" and screams into cerberus' fur for a while.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ares x Zagreus Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118312) by [urr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/urr/pseuds/urr)




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